It Started With an Air Raid
by Evenmoor
Summary: Karl Langenscheidt finds himself in an uncomfortable position but with a remarkable opportunity to repay a profound debt.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: It Started With an Air Raid  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Drama, Family  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Karl Langenscheidt finds himself in an uncomfortable position but with a remarkable opportunity to repay a profound debt.

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><p>"You're hovering again, Langenscheidt," Colonel Hogan said, smiling slightly at the nervous, almost twitchy German <em>obergefreiter <em>vacillating in the doorway to the small store. "Don't worry! We're not going to escape on your watch," the American gently reassured the man who was (nominally) their guard.

Karl swallowed; one could rarely be certain of anything around the infernally clever American. He glanced over at LeBeau, who was inspecting tomatoes with a delicate hand and conferring with the store-keep. Hogan and the _Franzose _might have been allowed to go shopping (under guard, of course) to buy the perfect ingredients for the gourmet dinner for the visiting general, but they would never turn down the free opportunity to conduct other "business" on the side while they were in town. "I am not worried that you will escape, _herr _Colonel," Karl replied honestly, his tension not easing.

Hogan and his men would never escape from Stalag 13. Not until the day that the Allied tanks rolled up to the front gate. Of this, if nothing else, Karl was absolutely certain. The far greater threat would be that the Gestapo caught them red-handed on one of their little escapades outside of camp. And it would not be long before the Gestapo looked to the guards supposed to be keeping watch on them.

"Good to know, but it might be better for your health if you'd relax. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out," Colonel Hogan said, infuriatingly cheerful.

Karl hated going on these sorts of trips with him.

"_Herr_ Colonel, it is getting late-" he groaned as the American grinned, far too at ease.

"All right, all right!" Hogan acquiesced, throwing up his hands. "Hey, LeBeau, pick up the pace, would you? Our genial guard here is getting nervous."

The little Frenchman glanced over his shoulder at them, rolling his eyes. "One cannot rush the selection of the perfect ingredients, _mon Colonel_," he snobbishly replied, holding up one of the tomatoes demonstratively.

"LeBeau!"

"Okay, okay," the French corporal grumbled. After a moment, he put both tomatoes in his bag.

"_Hey, where is my money?_" the shop-keep complained waspishly. "_Someone has to pay for this!_"

"You're up, Langenscheidt!" Colonel Hogan genially clapped the corporal on the shoulder. Karl fumbled with the money given to him for the errand; no doubt Hogan could have easily paid for the purchases himself - he and his men never seemed short on funds. Then again, maybe they didn't want to offend a contact by paying for his merchandise with counterfeit currency. Just as Karl handed over the cash, a siren went off, nearly startling him out of his own skin. The shopkeeper grabbed at the money before it fell to the floor, quickly stuffing it in his pocket.

"Air raid!" Hogan frowned in annoyance, as if his own bombers were inconveniencing his plans. "They're probably after the secret munitions works outside of town."

LeBeau sighed, equally put out. "The thanks we get for good work."

Karl, unlike the two POWs, was not nearly so sanguine about the situation. "We must get to the bomb shelter!" he urged them, not without reason. He could already hear the distant pounding of the anti-aircraft batteries.

"_It is safe downstairs_," the shop-keeper informed them, disappearing behind a curtain. Karl found himself propelled towards the concealed shelter by Hogan, almost flattening LeBeau in the process.

"Hey, watch the tomatoes!" the Frenchman complained as Hogan hustled them downstairs.

They made it down none too soon; the ground shook beneath them as dust rained down on them from above.

"Their navigator should be _fired_," Hogan griped amiably.

"_It is easy for you to make jokes, herr Colonel_," the shop-keeper retorted as another bomb rattled their shelter. "_It is not _your_ town being flattened by these bombs!_"

Quite frankly, Karl agreed with the shop-keeper.


	2. Chapter 2

Karl huddled miserably in the shelter as the bombs pounded, rattling the small, almost claustrophobic room. He prayed that the air raid would end soon so he could just get back to Stalag 13 in one piece. As he started on this well worn prayer a ninth (or was it the tenth?) time, a massive explosion, almost an earthquake, shook the building, covering everyone in dust and sending them all to the floor.

"Well, there go the secret munitions works," Hogan remarked dryly as he sat up and swept the dirt from his jacket.

"And there go my tomatoes," muttered LeBeau in annoyed counterpoint.

"_Maybe now they'll stop demolishing Hammelburg and go back to England for some target practice_," the shop-keeper grumbled angrily, understandably not enjoying the situation.

"_Maybe someday they'll think of a way to steer bombs directly to their targets_," nervously suggested Karl, only half paying attention to the conversation. He could still hear the distant report of the anti-aircraft batteries, but the bombs had finally stopped. There might not be anything left of the munition works left to bomb, anyway, after the last explosion. After what seemed like an eternity, the all-clear sounded.

LeBeau inspected the sad remains of his tomatoes as they climbed the stairs back into the shop. "I cannot cook with squashed tomatoes, _mon _Colonel," he complained. "Even for the Germans."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "By all means, find some more tomatoes, LeBeau, but make it snappy. We haven't got all night."

"But Colonel!" Karl protested futilely as LeBeau went back to the display, "I do not have enough money left to pay for more tomatoes!" Indeed, such fresh fruits were extremely expensive these days, especially given the season.

The shop-keeper crossed his arms defiantly at Hogan. "_I will not give tomatoes for free, herr Oberst, not even to you!_" he proclaimed defiantly. "_I have a livelihood to consider, after all, unless your bombers kill me first!_"

"You don't take credit, do you?" Hogan asked facetiously, scratching his head. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Okay, I'll pay for it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large number of bills. Karl's eyes widened at the sight of so much money in the hands of a prisoner.

"_And do not even think to pay me in counterfeit, herr Oberst_," the vendor declared, eying the money suspiciously. "_I have all the trouble I need without the Gestapo investigating me for false currency._"

"_Don't worry, I have the real stuff, too_," Hogan assured the man in German. "You'd think he didn't trust me!" he joked to Karl, switching back to English.

Karl wondered how much of Hogan's counterfeit money had ended up in the pockets of camp guards, including himself, so he dared not to make any sort of comment to that remark. Finally, LeBeau found replacement tomatoes and Hogan payed the remaining balance.

"_Dankeschön, Märchenprinz!_" the irrepressible American grinned on the way out.

"_Don't mention it, _ever," the shop-keeper muttered grumpily. "_And don't call me 'Märchenprinz'!_ _I curse whatever Dummkopf thought of that name!_"

"What other name would such a charming man have?" LeBeau snickered as he passed him in the doorway.

The ill-tempered vendor shook his fist at the Frenchman. "Bah! _If you never return, it will be too soon_," he glared at the little Frenchman.

Karl decided that discretion was the better part of valor and said nothing to the shop-keeper as he hurried after Hogan and LeBeau.

Outside, Hammelburg was in a state of organized chaos. Karl sneezed reflexively as the smoke from the burning factory hung heavy in the air; in the gathering darkness, pale ash rained down on the street from above. Fortunately, this area appeared completely untouched. Karl didn't dare wonder what he would do if the truck had been damaged or, worse, destroyed.

"Come on, LeBeau, let's get back to camp. I'll ride with you in the back of the truck," Hogan said as he glanced upwards, blinking against the ash as the thick black smoke swirled skywards, lit eerily by the fires below. Karl was grateful when Hogan hopped in the back with the little Frenchman instead of joining him in the cab - with his passengers hidden, he wouldn't face so many questioning glances; everyone was always on alert after an air raid. So that was one worry off his shoulders.

As he climbed into the cab, Karl compulsively touched the packet containing his orders, stored safely in the inside pocket of his jacket. After reassuring himself that it was still there, he started the engine and began the trip back to camp, glad to be on the way home, such as it was.

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><p><strong>Translation Notes:<br>**

_Märchenprinz_, the Underground shop-keeper's code-name, means "Prince Charming".


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Special thanks to **Lizzi0307 **for assistance with the German lines! _Dankeshön!_

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><p>The trip back to camp started out uneventfully, which was exactly the way Karl liked it. The well-traveled, familiar road was pretty much the shortest, most direct path between Stalag 13 and Hammelburg, heavily-patrolled and (generally) one of the safest.<p>

Then he reached the bridge.

Or, rather, what was left of the bridge. It was now a twisted wreck of rubble at the bottom of the pitch-black ravine.

"_Ach du lieber!_" Karl exclaimed in surprise and frustration as he slammed on the brakes, barely coming to a stop in time. He gripped the wheel tightly, hoping his heart didn't explode.

"Hey, Langenscheidt, what's going on up there?" came Hogan's voice from the back of the truck.

"Someone has destroyed the bridge, _herr _Colonel!" Karl replied a bit breathlessly. "We will have to go around the long way." He threw the truck into reverse and carefully backed it up and turned it around.

"Alright, whoever is in charge of those bombers is really starting to _annoy _me," the American colonel complained, his aggravation obvious. "They just _had _to be ambitious and take out a bridge _and _a munitions factory on the same night! They could have waited ten more minutes for us to finish up in town."

"Maybe they had a nice tailwind on the way and got here early," muttered LeBeau.

Karl hated the long route immensely. His eyes darted around nervously as he drove, his heart pounding away in his chest. The trees grew close to the alarmingly narrow road in many places, and he had no desire to be ambushed by Underground agents lurking in the darkness; all they would see would be a German soldier driving a truck by himself, a tempting target if there ever was one. This road was the perfect stretch for the someone to attack a solitary vehicle.

As if in omen, another truck suddenly loomed up in the shadows, seemingly abandoned and empty. It was half off the road; it appeared to have lost control and crashed. Fortunately, there was just (barely) enough room for Karl to maneuver his own vehicle around it. As he drove past the other truck, an ominous chill shot through him as he saw the reason the truck crashed: the windscreen had been marred by dark, telltale spatters and several distinctive spiderwebbing bullet holes. Karl could not see any movement in the cab.

He silently whispered a prayer for their souls, whoever they were, as he continued driving. He would tell Sergeant Schultz about the other truck when he got back to camp; the sergeant would see to it that someone investigated it properly.

After what seemed like an eternity, Karl finally pulled up to the checkpoint where this lonely stretch of road rejoined the main road. He was immediately challenged by the checkpoint guard.

"_Zeigen Sie mir Ihr Aufträge_," ordered an officer - and a young one at that. He couldn't possibly be more than twenty years old, probably fresh out of training, with all the arrogance to go with it. Karl quickly produced the demanded packet, which the young _Leutnant_ squinted at in the darkness.

"_Gefangenentransport! Es wird höchste Zeit!_" the man exclaimed immediately, much to Karl's surprise. "_Warum sind Sie zu spät?" _he demanded as he shoved the precious packet of orders back into Karl's hands.

Since Karl wasn't supposed to be on this road, anyway, he had no idea why the checkpoint guards would have been expecting him at all, never mind wonder about why he was late.

"_Der Luftangriff verzögerte mich, herr Leutnant. Es ist total chaotisch in Hammelburg, und die Brücke war zerstört_," he explained, still somewhat confused. Did these men somehow not notice the air raid?

"_Well, at least you are here, finally. We're checkpoint guards, not jailers, and this Amerikaner has not stopped jabbering in his barbaric language since he practically fell out of the sky on our heads_," the man grumbled. Even as the arrogant young _Leutnant_ spoke, a very annoyed-looking _Hauptgefreiter _appeared out of the darkness, all but dragging a very uncooperative prisoner still wearing his flight gear.

It was fairly obvious where this _Amerikaner_ has come from. "_These foolish Americans should know better than to challenge the might of the glorious Luftwaffe, herr Leutnant_," Karl said, in a fairly decent imitation of the _Kommandant_. It seemed the appropriate thing to say at the time, though he himself never believed it. Karl glanced over the prisoner briefly; the man heavily favored his right foot, perhaps having injured it after he bailed out of his plane during the air raid. There were likely others in the woods, as well, who would soon be picked up by patrols.

The American's mouth was definitely still functional, no matter what other injuries he may have. "Damn Krauts! If my foot didn't hurt so much, you'd find it so far up your-"

"_Halt den Mund!_" the young _Leutnant_ snarled, striking the prisoner on the cheek. "_You shall not speak to a member of the Master Race in such a tone!_"

As he was dragged to the truck, the American still smirked defiantly. "Hitler's father was a mule, his mother wore army boots, and you're the bastard child of the Big Bad Wolf and the Wicked Witch of the West!"

Karl, who had climbed into the back of the truck to pull the prisoner inside, very nearly laughed at the insult, but somehow managed to squash it into a mere gurgle that went unnoticed by the _Leutnant_.

"_What are those men doing there?_" the _Hauptgefreiter_ suddenly asked, seeing Hogan and LeBeau sitting calmly and silently in the back of the truck.

"_I'm transporting them back to Stalag 13 with me. They are why I was in Hammelburg in the first place_," replied Karl, who decided _not _to mention that they were in Hammelburg buying groceries. Somehow, he just didn't think these men would understand.

"_Efficiency, in the army? Amazing_," muttered the sergeant as he all but lifted the unhappy American into the truck. "_He's all yours, and good riddance!_"

Karl dragged the uncooperative airman as gently as he could without arousing suspicion and shoved him down next to Hogan and LeBeau, securing him tightly – he would not be so willing to sit quietly as the men from Stalag 13. The American blinked, obviously surprised to have company. "Hey, who are you guys? Krauts get you, too, huh?"

Hogan chuckled quietly. "Nope, not recently!"

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><p><strong>Translation Notes:<br>**

_"Zeigen Sie mir Ihr Aufträge."_ : "Show me your orders."  
>"<em>Gefangenentransport! Es wird höchste Zeit!<em>" : "Prisoner transport! It's about time!"  
>"<em>Warum sind Sie zu spät?"<em> : "Why are you late?"  
>"<em>Der Luftangriff verzögerte mich, herr Leutnant. Es ist total chaotisch in Hammelburg, und die Brücke war zerstört<em>." : "The air raid delayed me, Lieutenant. It's totally chaotic in Hammelburg, and the bridge was destroyed."  
>"<em>Halt den Mund!<em>" : "Shut up!"


	4. Chapter 4

Having secured his new prisoner in the rear with Hogan and LeBeau, Karl climbed back into the front of the truck. The _Leutnant _ordered the _Hauptgefreiter _to raise the gate and allow the truck to pass through the checkpoint. As the sergeant walked to the gate, he leaned over to Karl and offered a few words.

"_Be wary, Obergefreiter; these woods are full of men who would shoot you as soon as they saw your uniform. Keep to the main roads as much as possible_," he warned Karl in an undertone.

"_Ja. Vielen Dank für die Warnung, Hauptgefreiter_," Karl politely thanked him, even though he was already well aware of the danger. He had no intention of straying from the road. "_Ich werde vorsichtig sein._"

"_See that you _are _careful, Corporal_," replied the sergeant as he raised the gate. "_Many a foolhardy soldier has vanished in these woods._" Karl thought he saw the _Hauptgefreiter _look towards the _Leutnant _when he spoke those last words, but he couldn't be certain in the darkness.

It was a good five minutes before Karl realized that he'd completely forgotten to inform the checkpoint of the ambushed truck on the road - they could have called Hammelburg themselves. It wasn't that much of a problem, Karl reassured himself; it just meant a few minutes more work for him once he got back to camp.

And then there was the matter of the new prisoner in the back of his truck. Karl could hear him talking with Hogan and LeBeau, though he couldn't make out the words over the noise from the truck. The airman would be processed and interrogated; if he were very lucky, he might be traded back to the Allies during a prisoner swap, or manage to escape (though not from Stalag 13), but he was most likely to spend the rest of the war in one rotten, filthy POW camp or another. Colonel Hogan couldn't save everyone.

Karl's thoughts strayed to his sister, Greta; when they last spoke, she had been hours away from being arrested by the Gestapo for suspected Underground activities. As a child, Greta had always been outspoken, a characteristic she hadn't fully managed to temper by the time she left for university.

He could still vividly recall the tremor in her voice when she spoke to him in the hotel in Hammelburg. She had begged - begged! - for his help. Even if it was just a few marks. But what she really needed was a way out of Germany. But he was only a corporal in the _Luftwaffe_; he had no influence, no power to save her. His own sister, and he was helpless to save her.

A sudden crashing sound yanked him back to where he should be - on the road. For the second time that night, Karl was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid an untimely end, this time from a tree suddenly falling across the road in front of him. His exclamation this time was far more colorful.

"Hey, what's going on up there?" Hogan demanded loudly from the rear of the truck. "You just about got prisoner pancake back here!"

Karl was about to reply when he heard the ominous click of a gun being cocked inches from his ear.

"You keep very still and quiet, Fritz, or your head is going to have a nice new hole in the back of it," a voice whispered harshly in English. Karl swallowed, not moving an inch, his hands clutching the steering wheel. "Good boy," the unseen man replied.

"Hey, what-" came a sudden voice from the back of the truck. "Cap, guess who we found! It's Corporal Woods! And a couple of other guys, too."

"Keep your voice down, Anderson," 'Cap' hissed. A rough hand yanked Karl out of the cab and pushed him towards the back of the vehicle.

All three of his prisoners were now out of the truck, along with two other men, dressed in flight gear and definitely looking somewhat the worse for wear from their bail-out and landing, but they clapped their fellow on the shoulder, greeting their lost comrade warmly, and completely missing Colonel Hogan's irritated expression.

"Are you in charge of these guys?" Hogan demanded, addressing the man currently holding a gun to Karl's head.

There was a pause, as if his captor suddenly realized that he was standing in front of a superior officer. "Yes, sir. And you can thank me for the rescue later. We need to get this Kraut here to drive us to Switzerland. Either of you two speak German?"

* * *

><p><strong>Translation Notes:<br>**"_Ja. Vielen Dank für die Warnung, Hauptgefreiter_." : "Yes, thanks for the warning, _Hauptgefreiter_."  
>"<em>Ich werde vorsichtig sein.<em>" : "I'll be careful."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: For anyone who might be wondering, Karl's sister Greta is my own creation. Her situation with the Gestapo (and her subsequent escape) are the subject of Chapter 4 of an earlier fic of mine, _Home Sweet Home_. Greta was also borrowed by **Susan M. M.** for her fic, _Those in Darkness_, where in a brief scene Hochstetter interrogates Karl regarding Greta.

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><p>Switzerland? Karl felt faint. There was no way he could drive a truck full of escaped Allies all the way to Switzerland. This was the heart of Germany; he would be caught within a few miles, and he could not imagine a scenario which ended well for any of them. For his own part, he'd probably be given a one-way ticket to the Russian Front for his perceived incompetence.<p>

Meanwhile, Hogan glared impatiently at the leader of the Allied airmen, who still held a gun to Karl's head. "Put the gun down. He's not going anywhere. _Mach dir keine Sorgen. Ich werde damit umgehen_," he said, looking right at Karl, who nodded nervously. If anyone _could_ handle this situation, it was Colonel Hogan, and he was more than happy to just remain silent and frozen.

Karl felt the pressure of the gun barrel disappear from the back of his head after a moment. The unseen American roughly shoved him forward against the back of the truck. "Stay there, and don't move, Fritz!" he ordered sternly.

"_Sie sind genauso ängstlich wie du bist. Entspannen Sie sich_," Hogan told Karl. Karl didn't find Colonel Hogan's words to be very reassuring - these airmen may well be just as scared as he was, but they might still shoot him at any moment. He was entirely in the hands of an Allied officer who had been locked away in a German POW camp. Silently, he began another round of desperate prayers that he just make it through this. He wanted to see Greta again someday.

Meanwhile, Colonel Hogan turned his attention back to the Allied captain. "What's your name?"

Now against the truck, Karl finally got a good look at his captor: taller than Hogan, his fair hair and blue eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight wouldn't be out of place on a Nazi propaganda poster, though he, like his men, was covered in dirt and detritus from their flight through the woods. "Captain Tom McCaffrey, 504th Bombers, sir," he saluted stiffly.

Hogan did a double-take before returning the salute. "You're with the 504th?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, sir," Captain McCaffrey replied, somewhat confused by Hogan's reaction.

"Unbelievable. My own bombing group! When you get back to England, you'll have to tell your CO he has a really _lousy_ sense of timing," Hogan remarked acerbically. "Colonel Robert E. Hogan, formerly of the 504th, currently a member of good standing at the Stalag 13 country club."

"Colonel Hogan, sir!" the captain exclaimed in shock. "I heard you got shot down over Hamburg! I was one of the guys they brought in to take your squadron back up to full strength, sir. You're something of a legend with the 504th."

"Fantastic," LeBeau muttered. "Now that we are finished with the family reunion, _mon Colonel_, can we please figure out what we are going to do about them?"

"Hey, what do you mean, 'do about them,' Frenchie?" one of the other airmen demanded suspiciously.

The irritated little Frenchman glared at the American. "My name is Corporal Louis LeBeau, and I meant exactly what I said."

"We have this Kraut here drive us all to Switzerland, that's what's going to happen," McCaffrey growled at LeBeau, obviously not impressed by either his height or nationality.

"You wouldn't get ten miles, Captain," Hogan pointed out in exasperation. "His orders are only good between Stalag 13 and Hammelburg. And one guard for six men is more than a little suspicious."

McCaffrey crossed his arm impatiently. "It's as good a plan as any, sir, and we certainly aren't going to stay here!"

Karl, looking past the Americans, suddenly saw the distant headlamps of at least two vehicles coming up the road behind them, no doubt on their way from Dusseldorf or Hammelburg. Gathering his courage, he spoke up in a sudden rush of words. "_Herr Oberst, es kommt jemand!_"

The American captain raised his pistol again, pressing it against Karl's cheek. "I thought I told you to keep quiet, Fritz!" he hissed angrily.

Heeding Karl's words, Hogan looked behind him and saw exactly what Karl had seen. "Put that gun down, Captain, that's an order! We got company." When McCaffrey hesitated, Hogan grabbed the gun out of his hand and stuffed it in LeBeau's bag, which was concealed just inside the back of the truck. "Now, all of you, get to work moving that tree off the road. Now!" he ordered sternly. All the airmen obeyed with alacrity, including, thankfully, McCaffrey. "Langenscheidt, you grab your rifle and stand guard," Hogan told Karl in an undertone.

Karl nodded, understanding Hogan's (admittedly somewhat desperate) plan. He retrieved his weapon from the cab where he'd left it when he was captured by the American captain and posed what he hoped was a sufficiently menacing guard over the Allied 'prisoners' struggling with the tree. In a terrifyingly brief breadth of time, the other vehicles pulled up behind them. The first was a staff car, the second a personnel truck.

A short, black-clad figure instantly jumped from the staff car and stomped towards them.

"_What is going on here? Why is this tree blocking the road?_" demanded the familiar, impatient voice of Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo. "_Who are these men?_"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: The _real_ 504th Bombardment Group was actually served in the Pacific theater during the War and was finally inactivated in June of 1946. They have the distinction of flying the final combat mission by the United States Army Air Forces during World War II.

Also, special thanks to **steffiundaxel** for correction on one of the lines of German.

**Translation Notes:**  
><em>"Mach dir keine Sorgen. Ich werde damit umgehen"<em> : "Don't worry. I'll deal with it.  
>"<em>Sie sind genauso ängstlich wie du bist. Entspannen Sie sich<em>," : "They're just as scared as you are. Relax.  
>"<em>Herr Oberst, es kommt jemand!<em>" : "Colonel, someone's coming!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Ah, Major Hochstetter! Fancy running into you out here. Say, you want to help us move this tree? 'Cause we'd really like to get back to camp in time for _schnapps_," Hogan quipped from the front of the truck, where he was 'supervising' the men laboring with the tree.

Major Hochstetter's eyes bulged, and his entire body stiffened. He turned to Karl, radiating fury. "_What is this man doing here?_" he bellowed in rage. Karl quailed under the power of the Gestapo man's sudden blaze of wrath, but managed not to completely melt.

"_He- he- he is supervising the men moving the tree that is blocking the road, herr Major_," Karl stammered, stating the obvious.

"_I can see that, Dummkopf, but why is he here?_" Hochstetter growled, almost ready to burst an aneurysm right there in the middle of the road. A soldier jumped out of the Gestapo truck and ran up to them, rifle at the ready.

"_Herr Major, do you need any assistance?"_the soldier inquired, saluting stiffly.

The Gestapo major glared at the soldier. "_No, get back in the truck. I can handle this myself._"

Hogan, meanwhile, leaned casually against Karl's truck, as much at ease as if he had been watching a baseball game in Cleveland. As the soldier departed, Hogan smirked at Hochstetter. "You know, Major, I like how you showed that guy his place. It takes an iron will like yours to handle dangerous prisoners like us!"

"Shut up!" Hochstetter bristled at Hogan before turning back to Karl. "_Why is this man out of camp? And what are all these other men? Speak, Corporal!_"

In that moment, Karl had a choice. Up until this hour, he had never overtly helped Hogan in his schemes. He had ignored many things, looked the other way, and generally done his his best to _see nothing_. It was a fine and delicate line, but he had never crossed it.

But the truth was, he _owed_ Hogan. Hogan, the man who had saved Greta from torture and death at the hands of the Gestapo, who had spirited her out of Germany to freedom and safety. Hogan and Karl had never spoken of it, no words were exchanged or vows given or taken. And Karl realized he had a chance at this very moment to repay the debt to this remarkable American by saving his comrades. He took a deep breath and spoke. "_They are also prisoners, herr Major. I picked them up in Hammelburg, but I was delayed by the air raid._"

"_So, you and Colonel Hogan were in Hammelburg when the bombers came?_" Major Hochstetter appeared taken aback, as if this were not the answer he was expecting.

"_Jawohl, herr Sturmbannführer. We had to take cover in the air raid shelter. The bombing was quite close._" Karl licked his lips nervously. Never before had he ever even considered lying to the Gestapo before. He could feel the eyes of everyone upon him, American and German alike.

Major Hochstetter continued to look nonplussed. "_And you kept your eyes on Hogan at all times? He never left your sight? Not even for a moment?_"

"_Nein, herr Sturmbannführer. He was only there to ensure the good behavior of the other prisoners. None of them were out of my sight at any time._" It wasn't hard for Karl to surmise that Hochstetter believed Hogan had something to do with the bombing of the secret munitions factory outside of Hammelburg. However, Hogan's presence _in _Hammelburg when the town was being bombed rather put a small dent in that thought. "_The bridge on the road back to camp had been destroyed during the air raid, so I was forced to take an alternate route._"

Hochstetter stared closely at Karl in the moonlight. "_Bah, you are too stupid to make up such a ludicrous story_," he said finally. "_Show me your orders_."

Karl readily produced the packet from his jacket pocket and handed it over. The Gestapo major muttered over them a moment before thrusting it back at Karl. "_Gefangenentransport!_" Hochstetter exclaimed in disbelief. "_Only that Dummkopff of a Kommandant of yours would write orders like this. One guard, for six prisoners? Es ist lächerlich!_"

Hiding his relief as he folded the papers and returned them to his pocket, he silently thanked Colonel Klink for writing such vague, non-specific orders. "_I do not question my orders, herr Major, I just follow them,_" he stammered.

"Bah!" Hochstetter exclaimed in exasperation. He stomped past Karl to stand in front of Hogan. "I do not know what you are up to, but rest assured I will catch you one of these days, Hogan!"

Hogan grinned cheerfully. "We only want to get back to the ol' country club and have a good night's sleep."

"Then we shall make certain you reach there _safely_," Hochstetter glowered, not wanting to be cheated of his quarry yet again. "I would not want you to get lost on the road!"

Karl saw McCaffrey shoot Colonel Hogan a look of confusion and disbelief as the 'prisoners' finally wrestled the fallen tree off to the side of the road. The captain looked more than ready to take his chances and make a move, but Hogan whispered a few sharp words in his ear.

"All right, everyone back in the truck now," Hogan told the rest of the airmen. "Unless you want the nice Gestapo fellows to shoot you all right here." His tone was light, but Karl could sense the steel behind it.

Major Hochstetter did not return to his staff car until all the Allies had climbed into the back of Karl's truck.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation Notes:<br>**_"Gefangenantransport!"_ : "Prisoner transport!"  
>"<em>Es ist lächerlich!" : <em>"This is ridiculous!


	7. Chapter 7

As he climbed back into the truck, Karl couldn't believe that he had lied to a Gestapo officer, Major Hochstetter, no less. Granted, most of what he told the major had been the truth, but the most important part had been a complete fabrication. Now he could only pray that Major Hochstetter did not follow up on his story. _Pater noster, qui es in caelis..._

It wouldn't take much; all that need happen would be for Hochstetter to mention Karl's "new prisoners" to _Kommandant _Klink, or to ask the headquarters in Hammelburg. He decided that it would be best to concentrate on his driving, instead. _Sanctificetur nomen tuum..._

"Look, I know this isn't how any of you wanted to end the night," he heard Hogan say to the other Americans. The colonel was speaking loudly so all of the men in the back could hear, with the perhaps unintended side effect that Karl heard everything, too. "But it's very important that you're all aware it could've been much worse."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't see how," Captain McCaffrey objected, clearly unhappy with the situation. "We're headed to a POW camp. If we're _lucky_, we might get traded back at some point, or escape."

"You could have been shot by the Gestapo, Captain," LeBeau pointed out acerbically. "Or captured by them. And that would mean interrogation, with possibly a little torture on the side."

"Noooooo," drawled the voice of the Karl's original 'guest', the charming and delightful Corporal Woods with the injured ankle. "Instead we end up in the hands of the _Luftwaffe_. A Kraut is still a Kraut. Isn't one as bad as the other?"

"Listen, Corporal, after you've been a POW for a bit, you learn the difference in a hurry. There's a huge difference between the _Luftwaffe_ and the Gestapo." Hogan spoke with almost exaggerated patience. "The Gestapo are a bad bunch, but not all Germans are like them. The one driving the truck right now saved your bacon back there on the road, for starters, and this is _despite _the fact that you had dragged him out of the truck and held him at gunpoint. He's not a bad man, but by all rights he should've let the Gestapo have you."

"You sure sound awfully friendly with them, don't you, _sir_," McCaffrey said with false casualness. It was a stupid mistake.

The temperature suddenly seemed to drop by about fifteen degrees. "I know it says 'Colonel' on my uniform somewhere, Captain," replied Hogan with an equal amount of cheer. Karl almost felt frostbitten by the statement.

The situation with the captured American General Barton suddenly came to mind; Barton had thought Hogan the lowest of the low, a traitor and collaborator. Karl had never seen Colonel Hogan so... wounded. Somehow, by the time Barton left someone had managed to change his mind about Hogan - to such a degree that _the general saluted Hogan_ before leaving the camp. This current scenario, however, had a key difference: _these _men were Hogan's subordinates.

"Now, if any of you want to try jumping out of the truck right now and making a run for it on your own, I'm reasonably sure we're not going fast enough to break a leg or crack a rib," Hogan continued in the same chipper tone. "And by the same count, I'm also sure that Major Hochstetter right behind us would be very understanding and take you to a hospital to recuperate if you _do _happen to injure yourself in an escape attempt. Any takers?"

There was silence from the men for a long moment.

"Fine," Hogan remarked. "I can make sure that you, _all of you_, have at least a good chance to make it back to England in one piece. You guys need to trust me and do exactly as we say. And _don't _do anything stupid once we get to camp. Is that clear?"

Karl let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as the Americans sounded out a chorus of _Yes, sir._

"Good. LeBeau, when we get back to camp, you need to get to work in the kitchen. I'll look after Captain McCaffrey and his men."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_," LeBeau replied.

"The kitchen? Whachoo doing in the kitchen?" asked one of the Americans.

Karl could almost hear LeBeau rolling his eyes. "I cook. Every time _Kommandant _Klink wants to impress a visiting general, I end up in the kitchen. That is why Colonel Hogan and I were out of camp in the first place - we were buying ingredients in Hammelburg."

There was a slight pause. "You going to poison him?" McCaffrey finally inquired, his confusion apparent.

"Of course not," LeBeau replied scornfully. It was a good thing that they weren't in the same army, Karl decided, or else the little Frenchman would never get away with such disrespect to an officer. "I'd never ruin good food that way. And besides, they'd know who did it, and where would I be then?"

"Why do it, then? They can't force you to cook for them. It's against the Geneva Convention!"

Whatever response Hogan or LeBeau had for McCaffrey was lost in the squawk of the breaks as Karl slowed. Just up ahead, the floodlights of Stalag 13 starkly illuminated the dark road. A keen thrill of relief shot through Karl at the familiar sight.

"Heads up, everyone," Hogan remarked, "I think we're home."

_...Sed libera nos a Malo._

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><p><strong>AN**: The situation with General Barton is from the episode "The General Swap." Karl has good reason to remember that salute - it goes against military protocol for a general to initiate a salute with a colonel. For General Barton to salute Colonel Hogan, especially given his earlier vocal antipathy for our good colonel, would be quite extraordinary.

Also, the Latin at the beginning of the chapter is the first part of the Lord's Prayer (also known as the "Our Father"): "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." The phrase at the end is the final line from the same prayer: "But deliver us from evil."


	8. Chapter 8

As Karl pulled the truck into camp, he was met by Sergeant Schultz. The rotund NCO immediately laid into him.

"_Karl, where have you been?_" he demanded. "_You should have been back hours ago! And there was that terrible air raid in Hammelburg!"_

"_I'm sorry, Sergeant! We were caught in the air raid, and we had to take cover in the shelter, and then the bridge was destroyed and we had to take the long way, and then-"_

"Hiya, Schultz!" Hogan called, interrupting Karl with his characteristic lack of any sort of fear of the German guards. The colonel stuck his head through the canvas to wink at Schultz. "You'll never guess what we picked up while we were out!"

The sergeant, seeing the expression on Hogan's face (and well-knowing that particular tone of voice), abruptly wilted. "Oh, no, not _again_, Colonel Hogan! You are up to monkey business, I know it!" he exclaimed, shaking his finger chidingly.

Hochstetter's driver honked his car horn impatiently - Karl's truck was blocking the gate. Karl winced; he had half-hoped that the Gestapo major would keep driving when they reached the camp, but it seemed that hope was in vain. The next few minutes would tell whether Karl would get away with his earlier lies.

"_Wer ist das?_" the sergeant asked, only now noticing that there were other vehicles behind Karl's truck.

"Oh, no one important," Hogan quipped before Karl could even begin to answer. "Just Hochstetter and a truck full of goons!"

Schultz's eyes widened in dismay. "Oh, no, why is _he _here? Never mind, I don't want to know." With a flap of his pudgy arms, he directed Karl to continue on.

Karl swallowed his nervousness as he tried to keep his terrified hands steady as he parked the truck in the motor pool. Grabbing his rifle, he threw the strap over his shoulder and went to the back of the truck. LeBeau had leaped out almost before they had finished moving, but the French corporal kept his eyes on the Americans who shifted uneasily.

"Alright, LeBeau, get going," ordered Hogan, passing between the unfortunate airmen. "You know what to do. I'll take our guests back to the barracks with me and roust Newkirk and Carter."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_," replied LeBeau as the colonel hopped a bit less lightly out of the truck. The little Frenchman took his bag and left, heading in the direction of Klink's quarters.

"Well? What now, sir?" Captain McCaffrey asked sullenly, his eyes fixed on Karl dangerously.

"You guys will come with me back to Barracks 2 - I'll hand you off to my second in command there. I _do _have to explain to the _Kommandant_ how we went to town for tomatoes and came home with American fliers, too. If things go well, and Major Hochstetter doesn't cause too many problems, you should be out of here and back to England before the week is out, Captain," Hogan explained.

"_Herr Oberst, Sie müssen sich beeilen. Wir haben nicht viel Zeit,_" Karl reminded him nervously. They couldn't waste any time here; soon Major Hochstetter would begin to wonder what was taking so long.

Hogan nodded, immediately understanding Karl's concerns. "Okay, let's go, men. Follow my lead, and don't do anything stupid. I plan on living long enough to see Cleveland again, so don't give the guards any reason to shoot us," he told the Americans as the rest of them climbed out of the truck. Last was Corporal Woods, whose face seemed even paler in the harsh light. He winced as he jarred his injured ankle, cursing under his breath. One of the other two enlisted Americans, Karl wasn't sure of his name, steadied Woods, who nodded gratefully. The walk to the barracks seemed to stretch forever as the corporal limped along.

"_Do you want me to bring the medic to examine the corporal's ankle?"_ Karl quietly asked Hogan when they reached the door. Surely Sergeant Wilson would be able to help Woods, and swift treatment was always important with any injury. Waiting until the morning would be very painful for the half-crippled corporal, who would likely slow the progress of his comrades in their return to England.

Hogan gave him an uncomfortably piercing look. "_They won't thank you for it, you know,_" he replied.

Karl smiled nervously at the colonel. "_That is not why I'm doing it, herr Colonel."_

"No, I didn't think it was," Hogan said in English before turning inside to quell the rising voices of his men, who were understandably surprised to meet four new Americans. "Okay, okay, knock it off, guys! Newkirk, you and Carter need to get to work with LeBeau. Kinch, I need you and Olsen to start processing Captain McCaffrey and his men. Oh, and Kinch, could you get rid of Hochstetter? Have General Kinchmeyer call and tell him to get himself to Hammelburg instead of wasting his time in a prison camp."

The rest of Hogan's directives were lost as Karl closed the door and went off to retrieve Sergeant Wilson, the camp medic.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thank you to **konarciq** for pointing out several errors in the story. Your help is much appreciated!

**Translation Notes:**  
>"<em>Herr Oberst, Sie müssen sich beeilen. Wir haben nicht viel Zeit." <em>: "Colonel, you have to hurry. We don't have much time."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I'd like to thank my readers for their patience in coming back to this story; I know it's been awhile since the last chapter update. I hope I can wrap up the story with an fitting conclusion!

* * *

><p>Fritz was standing guard outside Wilson's barracks as Karl hurried over. "<em>Nice of you to finally make it back to camp, Karl,"<em> he said leeringly. "_What happened, you meet a fair Fraulein in town and lose track of time?"_

Karl shot him a sharp look. "_I was too busy taking cover in the air raid shelter to meet girls, Fritz," _he retorted impatiently. "_I need Sergeant Wilson in Barracks 2 immediately."_

"_Someone finally step on the Cockroach and break one of his legs?" _the other guard joked, chortling as if he were the funniest comedian in the world. No wonder the _Englander _Newkirk always targeted Fritz with his pickpocketing routine.

"_Fritz!" _Karl snapped, his fists clench so tightly he might have drawn blood. "_Sergeant Wilson!"_

The other German stared at Karl as if he had grown a second head. "_Fine, Karl! Ach du lieber, what's gotten into you tonight? Are you sure __**you're **__not the one who needs a medic?" _Shaking his head in disbelief, Fritz opened the door to the barracks. Karl all but stormed past, his fists still clenched.

He was met by fifteen staring, confused faces, and one resigned sergeant who already had on his coat and was throwing his medical bag over his shoulder. "Apparently, I'm needed in Barracks 2," Wilson said dryly. "Next time, speak a little louder, Corporal - I don't think they heard you in Berchtesgaden."

Karl winced slightly. "It has been... a difficult night, Sergeant," he replied, slightly embarrassed by his outburst, as he escorted the medic out of the barracks.

"Tell me the colonel isn't my patient, Corporal," Wilson asked suddenly, and not without merit, Karl thought. Colonel Hogan's extracurricular activities were hardly without risk, after all.

"_Nein, nein._ It is a new prisoner, an American who was shot down during the air raid on Hammelburg earlier tonight. He injured his ankle," Karl explained hastily to the concerned medic.

The sergeant let out a quick sigh of relief before preceding Karl into Barracks 2. The scene inside was something of an organized chaos; Olson, a smirk on his face, was directing one of the other men, who was taking measurements of Captain McCaffrey, while Olsen took photographs of one of McCaffrey's men sitting on a footlocker. Kinchloe was nowhere in sight. The other men from Barracks 2 seemed to be in a hurry, too, because they paid no heed to Karl once they realized who he was.

"Sergeant Wilson, over here," called Private Addison, who was standing in the doorway to Hogan's office. Looking past him, Karl could see Corporal Woods perched on the bed with his leg up on a stool. His face was pale and slightly drawn, and he was no doubt in some pain.

Wilson smoothly ducked through the chaotic melee in the barracks and immediately went to work on the injured airman. Karl, turning his attention to the rest of the men, noticed that McCaffrey seemed a bit dazed by the strange turn of events that unfolded around him. Any normal person would be; Hogan ran a very unusual outfit here, at that was putting it mildly. Just then, the captain noticed Karl lingering by the door.

"Hey, Sergeant," he said, cocking his head towards Olsen, "aren't you worried that the Kraut is going to tell everyone what we're doing and blow your little operation?" Despite the noise, his voice was clearly audible, even from where Karl was standing.

"Huh?" Olsen turned his head to see what McCaffrey was looking at. "Who, Langenscheidt, sir?" He chuckled in amusement. "Not really, no, sir."

McCaffrey frowned in confusion. "What, you bribe him, or what?" he asked frankly.

"Hold still, sir, I need to get these measurements," said Olsen as he fussed with the over-long measuring tape. "And, no, sir, we don't bribe him."

"So, Fritz there just keeps quiet out of the goodness of his heart?" McCaffrey drawled sarcastically. "Didn't know any of the Krauts had hearts."

Olsen glared at the captain, but didn't stop taking measurements. "We happen to work with quite a few locals, sir. They might not all be the nicest of folks, but being German doesn't make them _evil_." His mild tone was belied by the expression on his face.

McCaffrey scoffed openly. "You saying he's some sort of good guy? Looks to me like he's wearing a Kraut uniform, carrying a Kraut weapon, and guarding Allied POWs. That makes him the _enemy_, Sergeant."

"And yet, sir, here we are," Olsen replied, throwing the measuring tape over his shoulder and jotting down notes on a scrap of paper. "You might try talking to him while we wait. He's a nice guy... for a Kraut." He smirked insolently before calling out for the next man.

"If we weren't in a POW camp, Sergeant, I'd have you up on charges for disrespecting a superior officer," McCaffrey glared.

Olsen shrugged, completely unperturbed by the empty threat. "Guess it's a good thing we're here, then, sir."

Captain McCaffrey seemed to be positively boiling in frustration, the metaphorical steam coming from his ears. But it finally occurred to him that he was, essentially, dependent on the men of Stalag 13, and alienating them would not help him and his men get back to England. With a sharp sigh of annoyance, he shot a final glare at Karl and went to check on Corporal Woods.

Karl returned his glare with the mildest of smiles and decided to wait outside in case Major Hochstetter or the Kommandant decided to pay a visit.


	10. Chapter 10

Outside the barracks, Karl exhaled heavily, watching his breath billow out before him in a pale cloud before dissipating into the night. For hours, the entire night, he had been a taut wire. Starting with the air raid, his heart had barely a chance to slow from a death defying gallop. Karl gazed up into the night sky, awash with stars, and wished it were all over.

He'd never considered himself a brave man; he certainly hadn't ended up at Stalag 13 through an act of courage, and he would much rather stay far, far away from any opportunities for heroism (which were almost universally life-threatening situations). So what had come over him back there on the road, to lie to the face of a Gestapo major? Was he merely repaying the debt he owed to Colonel Hogan and his men, or was it something more?

_Oh, Greta. _A wave of loneliness washed over Karl. He missed his sister more than he could ever reveal to anyone. He loved her cleverness, how she always knew the right answer to any question, the way she could wheedle an extra sweet or pat of butter. He had never felt more proud of her than the day she went off to university on scholarship, and never more terrified when she came to Hammelburg to beg for his help to flee the country.

"_I only ask what help you can give me, Karl, even if it is but a few marks," _she had said softly. But there was nothing he could do to save her, not from the Gestapo. Once their hounds suspected someone of Underground activities, they would not rest until that person was dead or in prison, where they would be forced to name names - guilty or not. But, even though he couldn't save her himself, he could _never _abandon her to such a fate, not his clever, beloved little sister. So he turned to the one person he knew could see her to safety: Colonel Hogan, a man who he was supposed to think of as an enemy, a man who was supposed to be securely tucked away in a POW camp where he could do no harm to the glorious Third Reich, a man who was almost certainly the infamous Allied agent Papa Bear who had been such a plague to German forces in the region.

The best man Karl had ever known.

Greta had made her escape that night - the Gestapo never discovered how she so completely vanished, and the case was buried under more urgent and immediate affairs soon after. Karl hadn't heard from Greta since then, but he knew in his bones that Hogan had done everything in his considerable power to ensure her safe passage, whatever the route. But she had never seemed farther away than she did at this moment.

His ruminations were interrupted by the approach of a very irked-looking LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk, escorted by Schultz, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore the substance of their conversation.

"_Incroyable_!" the Frenchman muttered in disgust. "Just when I think those idiot Americans couldn't screw things up any worse-"

"Hey!" objected Carter patriotically, sticking up for his fellow countrymen. "Next time we're in the air, I want to see you hit every target on the mark! It's not easy, let me tell you."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Andrew, but did they have to hit the bloody _Luftwaffe headquarters _by accident, too? What were they trying to do, earn themselves a gold star an' a pat on the 'ead?"

"I don't get it. Isn't it a good thing their headquarters got blown up?" Carter's face screwed up in confusion.

LeBeau glared at him, clearly put out. "If it were tomorrow, yes. But now the general who was supposed to come here to have dinner with Klink is stuck in Hammelburg putting out fires-"

"-almost literally," finished Newkirk in an acerbic tone. "So much for our operation."

"Please, do not talk about our generals putting out fires in headquarters!" Schultz finally burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. "It's not very nice! Now go back into the barracks! Back!"

"Yeah, yeah, Schultzie, we know," the _Englander _replied, patting the fat sergeant on the shoulder. "Just our bleedin' luck tonight, it seems."

Karl wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry as the three Allied prisoners marched past him into the barracks. The entire (legitimate) reason he had taken Hogan and LeBeau to Hammelburg was now completely moot - without the general coming to dinner, there would have been no need to buy fresh tomatoes. And he wouldn't have encountered the downed airmen on the road, and he wouldn't have lied to Major Hochstetter, putting him at risk of a firing squad, or worse.

What a world.

"_The Big Shot wants to see you and the most senior of the new prisoners you brought, in his quarters,"_ Schultz informed him, his mustache bristling in an almost alarming manner. "_Major Hochstetter is very upset!"_

"_Major Hochstetter is always upset about something," _Karl replied with far more levity than he actually felt.

"_Yes, but he thinks that Colonel Hogan is up to some monkey business with these men," _said the fat man. "_But you would have seen it if the colonel were up to something - wouldn't you?" _Schultz's expression suddenly filled with confusion.

Karl sighed. It seemed his troubles weren't quite over yet.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful **konarciq**. Thank you very much for your encouragement!

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><p>Karl followed Schultz back into the barracks - with their addition, there was practically no room to move, thanks to the added presence of Captain McCaffrey and his men. None of the activity paused when the two Germans entered, though McCaffrey's crew seemed a bit unnerved by the whole thing.<p>

"I need the senior officer of the new prisoners to come with me to the _Kommandant_'s quarters," the fat sergeant announced in his 'official' voice, which Karl always thought came across as rather bombastic.

"Oi, that's you, Cap'n," Newkirk shouted across the hubbub. "Now, play nice with the old _Kommandant_, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

McCaffrey shot the _Englander _a very confused expression as he stepped around Private Addison. It was a fairly typical look for newcomers to this particular barracks, Karl noted. "I'm senior," McCaffrey replied stiffly to Schultz. "Captain Tom McCaffrey, United States Army Air Corps."

"Now, Schultzie, we need him back by eleven," Newkirk advised the sergeant in a teasing tone. "And don't be getting any funny _notions_, d'you hear?"

"Jolly joker!" Sergeant Schultz retorted, but the exclamation held no real anger. He turned to face the captain and practically beamed at him. "My name is Sergeant Schultz. I am the sergeant of the guard and also in charge of this barracks. I am taking you to meet Colonel Klink, the _Kommandant_ of Stalag 13, the only POW camp in all of Germany from which there have been no successful escapes!"

"Aw, come on, Schultzie," complained LeBeau, who had climbed onto his bunk, "you can't start the indoctrination lecture in here. What will Klink say when he learns you've stolen all his thunder?"

"Besides," Carter shrugged, "It's not like we haven't heard it all a hundred times already. I mean, don't you think that certain things get really boring when they keep getting repeated over and over again?"

The fat sergeant was about to respond, but Karl forestalled the tirade by interrupting. "_Sergeant, the Kommandant and Major Hochstetter are waiting," _he reminded him pointedly.

The mention of the diminutive Gestapo major definitely brought Schultz back on task. "Follow us, Captain."

Major Hochstetter's shrill tirade could be heard even before they opened the door to Colonel Klink's quarters.

"I know you were up to something, Hogan! You may have fooled this _Dummkopf_ of a _kommandant_, but the Gestapo is too smart for you!"

"Hey, if anything, we were the ones being abused! It doesn't say anywhere in the Geneva Convention that prisoners of war need to move fallen trees out of the roadway! It's your road, after all," Hogan countered cheekily.

"BAH!" Hochstetter shouted in annoyance. "It was probably your bombers that knocked the tree over, anyway!"

"_Herr Major_, we have the prisoner as you requested," Schultz announced, earning him a wrathful glare. The sergeant looked taken aback. "You _did_ ask for him, _herr Major_."

The Gestapo major, for once, decided to ignore the statement. Instead, he circled around the much taller American. "So, this is the senior officer of the new prisoners?"

McCaffrey stared straight ahead, his eyes like shards of ice. He might _look_ like a poster boy for Aryan supremacy, with his blond hair and blue eyes, but it was clear that the only colors that meant anything to him were red, white, and blue. "McCaffrey, Thomas J., captain, United States Army Air Corps, serial number-"

"Bah, never mind that!" Hochstetter's mustache was practically leaping off his face like the bristles of a porcupine. "What squadron are you from?"

"McCaffrey, Thomas J., captain, United States-"

"You are a saboteur and a spy!" the Gestapo major accused him.

"How can he be a spy, Major?" Hogan pointed out reasonably before the somewhat confused McCaffrey could continue his name-rank-serial number repetition. "He's wearing a uniform, he was captured with his men - also in uniform. And, may I point out, they were captured by the Luftwaffe, not the Gestapo."

"No, you may not!" growled Hochstetter.

"If I may interject-" Colonel Klink began.

"Bah, shut up, Klink! You have the most dangerous man in all of Germany right under your nose, and you are too stupid to see it!" Hochstetter shook his clenched fist right under Klink's nose. The Iron Colonel shrank back, grabbing for a bottle of _Schnapps_ and a glass.

McCaffrey, meanwhile, stood stock still with a growing expression of confusion at interplay between Hochstetter and Hogan.

Karl waited silently off to the side, hoping and praying that Major Hochstetter didn't remember him as the lone soldier guarding six prisoners on a lonely road in the middle of the woods.

No such luck.

"You!" Hochstetter, red-faced and furious, stomped up to face Karl. The fact that Karl was so much taller than the furious Gestapo man did not escape either of them.

"_J-j-j-ja_, _herr Major_?" Karl stammered.

"_You were guarding these prisoners. What were you doing out in the woods so far from the camp?"_ the Gestapo major demanded, as if hoping Karl would change his earlier story, or make a mistake in the retelling.

Karl swallowed, licking his lips in terror at being confronted by someone who could so easily have him shot. "_I w-w-was returning to the camp, herr Major!"_ he replied, desperately hoping he didn't accidentally contradict something he had said earlier. "_We were in Hammelburg. There was an air raid, and the bridge was destroyed. Colonel H-H-Hogan was there to keep the other prisoners in line."_

"Yes, ask Corporal LeBeau, if you're curious," Hogan interjected helpfully.

"SHUT UP! I do not trust the word of prisoners - least of all the ones here!" Hochstetter fumed before turning back to Karl. "_And all of these men were in Hammelburg at the time of the air raid?"_

"_Jawohl, herr Major!"_ It was even the truth - sort of. Karl decided not to mention that McCaffrey and his men were, in fact, the ones _bombing_ Hammelburg at the time.

Colonel Klink's _Schnapps_ seemed to have given him some courage (or perhaps additional foolhardiness), because he once again decided to butt in. "_Major Hochstetter, there is no possible way for Colonel Hogan to have been involved with the bombing of the secret munitions factory in Hammelburg. He is my prisoner, and there have never been any successful escapes from Stalag 13. Corporal Langenscheidt was with him the entire time! Is that not right, Corporal?"_

Karl nodded fervently. "_Yes, herr Kommandant!"_

"There, you see?" Klink grinned brightly. "It's all a misunderstanding-"

The glare Hochstetter shot him would have melted a much stronger man than Klink. Fortunately, they were interrupted by the ringing of Klink's telephone, which Schultz trundled over to answer.

"_Colonel Klink's quarters, Sergeant Schultz speaking!"_ He listened for a few moments before straightening up impressively. "_Jawohl, herr General! Einen Moment bitte, herr General!"_ The fat sergeant held the telephone away from his face, covering it with a pudgy hand. "_It is General Kinchmeyer!"_ he announced _sotto voce_.

"_Really!"_ Klink perked up immediately at the thought of a general calling him in person.

"_He is calling for Major Hochstetter!" _Schultz shrugged apologetically. Klink's face immediately fell.

"_Was? Give that to me!" _The Gestapo major all but snatched the receiver out of Schultz's hands. "_Ja? This is Major Hochstetter."_

Whatever 'General Kinchmeyer' had to say, it did not sit well with the major, whose face seemed to go from red to white and back again in the space of a few seconds. "_Jawohl, herr General! Heil-"_

It was obvious that the general had hung up on him.

"_-Hitler." _Hochstetter put the receiver down slowly.

Colonel Hogan grinned cheerfully. "Bad news?"

"**BAH!"**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I've been having some problems with the spam filter on my email - so I'd just like to thank everyone who has reviewed, even if I haven't replied to you individually! I've also edited this chapter slightly to clarify an issue pointed out by **konarciq**.

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><p>Hochstetter stormed past Karl on his way out the door, his glower furious enough to have melted right through anyone who might foolishly stand in his way. Or happen to be passing within half a mile of him.<p>

"Well!" Kommandant Klink rubbed his hands together, obviously pleased to be rid of the Gestapo major. Not that Karl blamed him, though; he felt the same way. "Now that _that's_ out over with, we can get down to business!"

The Kommandant came around the sofa to stand in front of Captain McCaffrey, whose expression was now completely blank; whether it was confusion at the abrupt departure of Major Hochstetter or something else, Karl wasn't sure.

Hogan smoothly stepped up next to the captain, an imposing presence between the two despite the mild look on his face. "Kommandant, can't the indoctrination lecture wait until morning? You don't want to accidentally put McCaffrey here to sleep. It's getting late, after all."

Klink shot a glare at Hogan. "You forget, Hogan, who runs this camp!" he pompously reprimanded the so-called prisoner.

"You know, sometimes I do," the American colonel agreed cheekily, crossing his arms.

"So do I," Schultz added, none-too-helpfully.

The Kommandant glared witheringly at his sergeant. "Oh, shaddup." It was hardly the first time he'd used that particular American phrase, no doubt picked up from the prisoners. At least Klink actually knew what this one meant...

"I'm sorry, _herr Kommandant_," Schultz apologized, though he didn't sound very contrite as far as Karl could tell. Karl, wisely, chose to remain silent.

Klink turned his attention back to Captain McCaffrey, whose blank expression was now clearly tinged with confusion. "So, you are Captain McCaffrey, eh? What squadron are you from?"

McCaffrey stared bullishly straight ahead, saying nothing.

"You can remain silent all you like, but your papers will tell the whole story," Klink declared, brimming from head to foot with all the superiority of the Prussian aristocracy. "_Corporal Langenscheidt, his papers?_" The Kommandant held out his hand expectantly.

Karl suppressed a wince, but it was a close call. Given that McCaffrey and his men had literally dropped out of the sky that very night, there really weren't any papers to produce. On the bright side, Karl found it infinitely easier to lie to the Kommandant than to Major Hochstetter. "_I'm sorry, herr K-k-kommandant. The papers were all destroyed during the air raid." _

Colonel Klink's expression collapsed from a grin to a scowl. As lies went, it was a fairly good one - especially since the so-called Iron Colonel never put more energy into his work than absolutely necessary to keep his life intact, it was highly unlikely that he would ever check with Luftwaffe headquarters in Hammelburg to confirm the story. Even if they hadn't gotten hit with a bomb during the air raid.

"American efficiency at work, sir," Hogan offered helpfully.

"Hogaaaan," Klink whined warningly at the so-called prisoner. The American stared back, completely affable and totally unflapped. "We will just have to fill out new papers for Captain McCaffrey and his men."

"Great!" Hogan clapped his hands together. "Shall we say, ten a.m. tomorrow morning? We need time for a breakfast meeting of the escape committee. You know, so we can introduce the new guys and everything."

"Hogaaaaaaan!"

"Oh, right. Sorry, sir, please continue." The American was clearly unapologetic, and the Kommandant looked like a petulant child in front of him.

"You and your men will assemble tomorrow morning at... _eight a.m._," Colonel Klink shot a smug, triumphant glance at Hogan. The Kommandant took whatever tiny, petty victories he could when it came to Hogan. "so you can be processed and indoctrinated. In the meantime, you and your men will be placed in Barracks 12. _Diiiiiismissed_!"

Hogan's eyebrows swept upwards. "Kommandant, be reasonable," he protested, though Karl could tell that from his tone that it was mostly for form's sake than anything else. "Barracks 12 is in mothballs! It would take hours to break out the fine china. Plus, it's got that draft-"

"They will sleep in Barracks 12, and that's final, Hogan! Now _get out_!"

The American colonel threw a crooked salute. "Okay, okay, I'm going! Come on, Captain, we'll get you and your men situated."

McCaffrey stared blankly at Hogan for a moment before turning and following him out the door. With a sigh, Karl trailed after them. Did the prisoners have a tunnel to Barracks 12, he wondered? He wouldn't be surprised - not even a little bit - if they did. And, if there were no tunnel, he wouldn't put it past Hogan and his men to have dug one by roll call the next morning.

~o0o~

When they arrived back at Barracks 2, the prisoners were still bustling around, though the chaos seemed a little more under control. Sergeant Kinchloe was still nowhere to be seen, but Wilson, the medic, appeared to have finished his ministrations to Corporal Woods and was chatting with Sergeant Carter. The injured corporal, ankle wrapped tightly and perched on a stool, was being measured by Newkirk, with LeBeau taking dictation.

Olsen, meanwhile, was entertaining McCaffrey's other two men with stories of his adventures outside the wire, while most of the other residents of Barracks 2 rolled their eyes at his exaggeration.

"Colonel Hogan!" Olsen grinned cheerfully, hopping off his bunk and joining the colonel and captain at the table in the middle of the cramped space. "We're just finishing with the processing, and everyone should be kitted out by tomorrow night. Civilian clothes, papers, the works."

"Very good," Hogan replied, glancing sidelong at Captain McCaffrey. "You hear that, Captain? You only have to hang around the ol' country club for a day or so."

The tall captain frowned, shooting a sharp look at Karl, who blinked back at him as if he had no idea what was going on. "Yes, sir, but won't the Krauts notice when we're gone?"

"Nah," the colonel said dismissively. "Let us worry about that. You need to worry about getting your men back to England once you leave here. Hey, Wilson!" Hogan called to the medic. "How's Woods doing?"

Wilson disengaged himself from Carter and came over. "Well, sir, it's not broken, else he'd be a lot worse off. Probably sprained, though not too badly. I recommend that he stays off it as much as possible and use ice to keep down the swelling. Keep the foot elevated, too."

Hogan heaved a sigh. "So I'm guessing walking to the rendezvous point is out of the question."

"I definitely wouldn't advise it, sir," agreed the medic. "Could put his recovery back days, if not weeks."

"We're not leaving Woods behind, sir, even if it means we're stuck here," McCaffrey declared firmly, his chin jutting out aggressively. Almost despite himself, Karl found he actually admired the American captain's loyalty to his men.

Colonel Hogan raised a patient eyebrow at the other American. "I wasn't suggesting you do, Captain. We just need to get you a truck so you can drive to the rendezvous."

"You can do that?"

"Captain McCaffrey, sir, with all due respect, when it comes to Colonel Hogan, I'm more surprised when something comes up that he _can't_ do," Olsen interrupted. McCaffrey's face twitched, as if trying to read some sort of impudence or insult from that statement, though the lanky sergeant looked perfectly innocent.

Finally, McCaffrey's brow furrowed deeply, even thoughtfully, as Hogan clapped him on the shoulder. "Captain, trust me. Getting you and your men back to England in one piece is currently our top priority. Ah, Langenscheidt, you still here?"

_"I must take Sergeant Wilson back to his barracks, Colonel,"_ Karl replied nervously. He figured he probably already heard far more of their plans than he really wanted to know, anyway.

_"Good. By the time you get back, our guests'll be ready to go to Barracks 12 for the night." _The colonel turned to the medic gestured towards the door with his head. "All right, Wilson, time's up. Say your goodbyes and head on back."_  
><em>

After all the excitement of the evening, Karl was more than ready to find his bed, even if it was a lumpy, uncomfortable barracks cot. As he escorted the medic out, he heard the colonel briefing the American flyers on their sleeping arrangements for the night, however short-term they would end up being.

Wilson was returned to his barracks, and the new prisoners were installed in Barracks 12 without incident. Karl could feel the hot glares on his back as he left; Hogan had been right, of course. These Americans wouldn't thank him for what he'd done for them. Nevertheless, he felt that Greta would have approved of his actions.

~o0o~

By the time he found his own cot, he was exhausted. All the stress of the evening had taken its toll. But even as he lay there in bed, sleep seemed to elude him.

Worries about his lies to Major Hochstetter, the fate of the American flyers they'd rescued, and a thousand other things crowded his mind.

He wondered where Greta was now; she'd always wanted to travel abroad, and was probably looking on her sudden enforced exile as something of an adventure. But still, he worried. She was very clever, but sometimes didn't think things through all the way. That was almost certainly the reason she ended up in such desperate straits when he saw her last.

Karl stared at the dark ceiling above him and let out a quiet breath. There was nothing more that he could do to help Greta now. But he could still pray. Hopefully, she was well and happy and safe, wherever she was.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he fell into a fitful slumber.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I've added translation notes to this chapter and many of the previous chapters, for anyone who wants to know the German. I do apologize if I got anything wrong in translation, since I don't actually speak German! Please let me know if I made any errors or something should be phrased differently.

* * *

><p>Roll call the following morning was a tense affair; the prisoners could not contain their glee about the previous night's devastating air raid, while the guards were mostly foul tempered for the same reason. Colonel Hogan managed to keep the worst catcallers out of the cooler, but it was a close thing.<p>

And yet, despite his fitful sleep and the thousand worries of the night, Karl felt strangely light. Even… happy?

He was in such a good mood that he had to struggle to make it through Colonel Klink's indoctrination lecture of the American flyers with a straight face. He'd already heard the speech a hundred times and more when new prisoners arrived, and it seemed to grow more and more ridiculous every time. _No one escapes from Stalag 13, toughest POW camp in all of Germany, iron fist, abandon all hope ye who enter here… _

By the time he escorted the men out, it was all he could do to not burst out laughing, which would surely have earned him time cleaning the latrines. Colonel Klink took his position seriously, after all.

Even Sergeant Schultz seemed to notice Karl's mood while they were patrolling the compound later in the morning.

"_Why are you so happy?"_ the fat sergeant asked in confusion as they watched the men from Barracks 9 competing against the men from Barracks 3. What the prisoners were doing and how they were keeping score completely escaped Karl, but they seemed to be having fun. Quite a lot of it, too, to judge by the way they were hollering and cheering. They had to be careful, or the Kommandant would think they were instigating a riot. "_Everyone is very upset about the air raid in Hammelburg, especially the Big Shot. It took him weeks to set up that dinner with the general. And Colonel Hogan is up to some monkey business, I know it! So why are you so happy?"_

Karl shrugged helplessly. "_I can't explain it, Sergeant. Yesterday, I was in Hammelburg, and the bombs were raining down… And then Major Hochstetter…" _he stammered uncertainly.

"_Ach, I know what you mean now," _Schultz nodded sagely, pulling a chocolate bar out of his coat. "_It was such a terrible time, and now that you are back, you feel so much better!"_

He considered Sergeant Schultz's words. Everything was out of his hands, now, and he was back at home (well, as much a home as Stalag 13 was for any of them). What would happen, would happen. Colonel Hogan surely had a plan, and Captain McCaffrey and his men would be free again by the same time tomorrow.

Free. That was how he felt.

Schultz's voice brought him out of his introspection. "_Oh, look, there are the new boys you brought from Hammelburg. Isn't it nice, they're helping the hurt one get a good view of the game."_

Karl couldn't help a smile as he watched Corporal Woods hopping gamely, supported by his two fellow enlisted men, who eased him onto a nearby bench. Despite a slight wince, Woods waved away any further mother-henning. His exact words were lost in the shouting, but the other two immediately grinned and joined the melee.

As Karl left the sergeant to eat his chocolate and continued on his slow patrol of the compound, he was surprised when Corporal Woods actually noticed him, and just short of astonished when the injured corporal spoke to him as he passed by.

"Hey, wait, you're the Kraut from last night," he remarked, waving a finger in his direction. "Langford?"

"Langenscheidt," Karl corrected him as he came to stand next to him. He was even more surprised that the injured corporal had been paying attention enough to remember even that much. It had been a very stressful night, and it had been pretty dark, to boot, nevermind the American's painful injury.

"That's it. Thought it was a funny one." Woods winced a bit as he adjusted his injured leg on the bench. "The colonel, he said you went to bat for us when that Gestapo goon showed up. Why would you do that? Cap and the others had just taken you at gunpoint and we were gonna make you drive us to Switzerland."

Karl smiled back hesitantly, but couldn't find a way to answer the man. He wasn't certain what to say; there was just too much he could not put into words. Greta, Colonel Hogan, his own conscience. And how could he now admit that he actually did speak English after all?

"Then again," Woods continued blithely, "why am I asking you? You don't understand English any more than I know German."

He couldn't help himself; the irony was simply overwhelming. _"I-i-ich weiß mehr, als Sie denken, da_ß_ ich wei_ß_," _he stammered with a mischief so rare he could barely believe he felt it.

"Yeah, you said it." Woods shrugged, oblivious to Karl's complete comprehension. "Anyway, I'm… I'm just glad we're not in the hands of the Gestapo right now. Now Cap, I don't think he sees a difference 'tween you and them. His buddy got shot down a while back; story goes he got captured by you Krauts and landed in a prison camp somewhere. By the time he was traded back, he was in such a way that he couldn't tell up from down anymore."

The injured American heaved a sigh. "Cap'll be happy to see every one'a you Krauts rot in hell."

"_Ich bin nicht überrascht." _Karl could hardly blame Captain McCaffrey for his hatred. The other prison camps were wretched hell-holes of misery, disease, and despair. He heard some truly terrible stories from the other guards, and from eavesdropping on transferred prisoners. By comparison, Stalag 13 was the country club that Colonel Hogan sometimes compared it to. 'Toughest POW camp in all of Germany,' indeed.

"Y'know, I got no idea what you just said," grinned Woods cheerfully, throwing off his somber mood. "I'll letcha know, though, I can't wait to get outta here and back home. Hasn't even been a day."

How must Hogan and his men feel, Karl wondered? Many of the other prisoners cycled in and out fairly regularly, but the men from Barracks 2 in particular, some had been trapped here for _years_, hundreds or thousands of miles away from family and friends, with no hope of seeing home again unless the war ended.

"Anyway," Woods continued, a smirk spreading across his face, "I still think Hitler's mother wears army boots. Though, on second thought, that's probably an insult to army boots everywhere."

Karl quickly covered a laugh with a spasm of coughing, which earned him a quizzical look from Corporal Woods.

"Huh."

Quickly composing himself, Karl threw his rifle over his shoulder once more and continued on his patrol, lest his good cheer get him into trouble. Thoughtfully, he mused that while Corporal Woods hadn't _quite _thanked him, it was more than he had ever hoped to get.

His eyes felt strangely misty all of a sudden.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation Notes:<br>**"_I___ch weiß mehr, als Sie denken, da_ß_ ich wei_ß__" _: "I know more than you think I know."  
>"<em>Ich bin nicht überrascht."<em> : "I'm not surprised."


End file.
